Steel City Heroes (Book 1): The Catalyst

by C. M. Raymond

  “No. Elijah,” she screamed into the wind.

  Willa turned and ran for the exit.

  ****

  Pushing through a crowd seeking refuge, Willa exited the PPG Tower.

  Rounding the corner, she found Elijah and Brooke—or the creatures that they had become—engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Her mouth dropped as she took in Brooke’s form. Though thinner, she was almost the same height as Elijah. Her size was accentuated as dark clouds of condensation and frost surrounded her.

  Her strength was surreal. The storm creature spun Elijah’s molten body and slammed him against the glass wall.

  He looked like a kid boxer in the ring with a seasoned pro. Alarawn had him against the wall; she delivered blow after blow. Willa could see his surface ripple in response to her assault. Despite his bulk, there was no way he could sustain this kind of impact. Monster or no monster, Willa was witnessing the destruction of Elijah Branton.

  Willa sprinted, positioning herself to the side of the fight. Her mind racing, she searched the small library of poems in her head hoping for something of use. Some were more reliable than others, most seldom worked in her practice space. She cursed herself for focusing her craft on peace rather than war.

  She raised her right hand toward the fight, directing it at her friend. Recalling its effectiveness, Willa chanted the words of the poem she had used in the fight against Elijah. It had strengthened Sean; she prayed it would do the same for the creature.

  “In what distant deeps or skies.

  Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

  On what winds dare he aspire?

  What the hand, dare seize the fire?”

  She smiled, awed—even in the midst of battle—at how a poem’s meaning could dramatically change.

  The power emanated from her and toward the molten man. Elijah raised his heavy arms, and created a defensive stance.

  Willa chanted on.

  Frustrated with his renewed strength, Alarawn’s creature wound up for a finishing right hook. As her fist arced toward its target, Elijah dodged. The punch landed on the glass wall behind Elijah. It exploded into glittering bits. He countered with a quick but devastating uppercut. His large metal arms powered into Brooke’s ribs. Her body bent with the blow. Elijah grabbed the head of the creature and drove it into his alloy knee.

  Willa’s chant continued. Her energy waned as she sustained the spell.

  “That’s enough singing from you, darling.”

  The voice preceded a blow to the back of her head.

  Willa dropped to the glass-covered concrete. She turned, looking into Rex’s eyes.

  “You’re one tough bitch,” he said. “Much stronger than that pup I killed last week.” A smile spread across Rex’s face. Blood ran from his freshly broken nose, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Willa said, through a grimace.

  The hulking man laughed. “This is going to be fun.” He reached across his body and drew a jagged blade.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The Uber driver had looked at Chem suspiciously as he dove into the car with the eighteen-inch monkey wrench. It was all he could find on his way out of the laboratory, with a little stop in the maintenance room. But it would have to do.

  Chem swung the wrench with all he could muster. Adrenaline compensated for his physical weakness and he connected with Rex’s knife-bearing hand just as the goon reached for Willa. The knife rattled on the ground. Rex turned, shaking the pain from his appendage.

  Chem’s forehead dripped sweat. Standing toe-to-toe with the brute, the chemist was four inches taller, but half as wide.

  “Somebody else wants to be a hero?” Rex said.

  “Better than being an asshole,” Chem replied, gripping the wrench more tightly.

  When the police scanner had jumped to life about a disturbance at the PPG building, Chem had known exactly what was going on. He considered leaving the fight up to Willa and Elijah, but the thought was fleeting. Now he faced what would likely be his end.

  Chem was determined to go down fighting.

  He took another swing. This time, Rex caught the enormous wrench in mid-air. In one swift turn, he disarmed the chemist. Without hesitating, Chem grabbed Rex’s jacket and thrust his knee upward, targeting Rex’s crotch.

  But Rex was unfazed. Smiling, the brute plowed his fist into Chem’s face. Bones crunched.

  He dropped to his knees. The night sky faded. Before going completely black, he heard a voice.

  “It’s my turn, bitch.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  We’re too weak.

  Willa watched Rex drop Percy with one blow. Brooke had turned the tables again on Elijah. The three had done what they had to. Fate or chance had brought them to this point, and now their time was running out. Brooke’s power was too much. Rex was too experienced, and he fought with an inhuman strength.

  If only I had practiced the art.

  Willa considered using the strengthening spell on the chemist, but he was too far gone. Even with enhanced strength, the thin man stood little chance against the bodyguard. Rex was himself a monster.

  Some other way.

  Willa placed her hand over her chest and chanted a desperate verse, hoping for a miracle.

  Four lines in, Willa felt a surge. It was a combination of strength, focus, and confidence. Everything came into focus. And she knew exactly what she needed to do.

  Rex turned from the crumpled mass of Percy’s body just in time to see Willa crash into him. The sneer of victory melted from his face. She wondered if he knew—if he could read her strength.

  She didn’t hesitate. Swinging wildly, her fists crashed into the larger man. She continued her poem, screaming the next lines:

  “Her words did gather thunder as they ran,

  And as the lightning to the thunder

  Which follows it, riving the spirit of man…”

  Rex was caught completely off guard by the poet’s sudden change. Her attack increased as her spell gained momentum:

  “No sword

  Of Wrath her right arm whirl’d,

  But one poor poet’s scroll, and with ‘his’ word

  She shook the world.”

  Her final line coincided with a final push. Power surged from her hands. Rex went sliding across the concrete. The large man gained a knee. He stared at her, his eyes daggers.

  “You think your fucking poems can defeat me?”

  Willa slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were unwavering.

  “Yes.” Without closing her eyes, she raised both hands in front of her. Connecting the tips of her forefingers and thumbs, she put Rex’s head in the middle of the little triangle. With confidence she spoke the word of a different poem; its power reverberated in the air around her.

  “Thou from a throne

  Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark

  Arrows of lightnings. I will stand

  And mark.”

  A patch of flame appeared in the triangle shaped by her hands. It grew into a cone. With a final shout, the cone shot from her hands and drove directly into the chest of Alarawn’s henchman.

  His body flew, finally finding ground thirty feet from its point of departure.

  Willa turned, running to the chemist’s side.

  “You OK?” she asked.

  “I’m doing a helluva lot better than our boy over there.” Chem stood, motioning toward Rex.

  The poet smiled. “It’s nice that one of us specializes in something useful.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “Join me, Elijah,” the storm creature said. “Look at us. We are gods. If we join forces, we could do anything. We can right all of the city’s wrongs.”

  Elijah leaned against one of the few remaining windows of PPG Place. He was nearly finished. Whatever Chem did to her worked far too well. Before he had the chance to consider her offer, a sound came from him. “Biezh do haaye.” Elijah rested his metal head against the building. Laughing, he
said, “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing that’s a no.”

  He had felt the “other” inside of him the entire fight. Now his new friend urged him on. The passenger apparently didn’t feel as badly as Elijah did—his resolve was certain.

  “You’re a fool. We could have everything.”

  “I’m just hoping I get my Subaru back.” He inspected his arms and legs. The steel layer no longer held its form.

  The damage was clear.

  “Have it your way,” Brooke said. Clouds gathered in the space above PPG Place. Lightning crashed around them, blinding Elijah. Hail began to fall, pinging off his metal.

  Get up, you damned fool, a voice inside his head said. You can’t just lie there. This is your city.

  “It’s not mine,” Elijah replied.

  It is now.

  The storm surged as Alarawn roared with blood-curdling laughter. Wind whipped around her, and she rose slowly off the ground. At the sight of Brooke wrapped in a tempest, the heat in Elijah’s body gave out; and his power went with it.

  Elijah sank, his hands barely keeping him up.

  Suddenly, a large monkey wrench landed in front of him, clanging. Elijah looked up and saw Willa and Chem come into view through the driving sleet.

  Chem nodded, then began searching through a black doctor’s bag. Willa stood tall, her right palm extended in his direction.

  “The Human Dress, is forged Iron

  The Human Form, a fiery Forge.

  The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d

  The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.”

  Heat rose within his core. The red that showed through the cracks in his steel shell darkened. Smoke burned in his lungs.

  She’s doing it, he thought. One last chance.

  Then the voice returned. Vstát, Američan. Dej tu děvku peklo.

  Elijah had no idea what the words meant, but they were precisely the pep talk he needed. Standing, he felt his power grow. Shielding his face, he walked into the hail and wind—heading toward their source.

  Brooke Alarawn was so enraptured by the storm she was creating, she never saw the wrench coming. It landed with all the force Elijah had on the side of her shoulder. The tool clanged, as if he had connected with a steel utility pole. Nevertheless, Brooke dropped to the ground, stunned.

  This was the historian’s only chance—if he indeed had one. He leapt onto her and straddled her torso. With his forearm against her throat he pushed. Her eyes went wide. For a moment he recognized her as Brooke Alarawn: his boss, his friend, and his lover. Struck by the revelation, he eased up just enough for her to land a right-handed blow on his wounded side. Elijah screamed, but refused to get off the creature.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Chem, squinting through the blizzard, crouched over his medical bag. His hands moved fast, but with a certain surety. The scientist in him was disgusted by the rudimentary estimations he was forced to make, but speed was paramount.

  He poured the elements into a syringe and stood.

  “Keep at it,” he screamed to Willa.

  The magician, lost in her trance, didn’t respond.

  Half-diving, Chem rolled within arm’s reach of the battle, just as Alarawn struck Elijah’s side.

  Without missing a beat, the chemist lunged. A crack had formed at the base of her neck, just large enough for the hypodermic needle to sink through. Relief settled over him as it sunk into something fleshy.

  Chem pushed the plunger.

  The creature turned. Its eyes were those of a trapped animal. A frozen arm lashed out at Chem and batted him away like a fly. His body slid across glass and concrete.

  Chem looked up.

  This better work.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  On their feet again, the creatures exchanged blows next to the ice rink. Willa’s lips continue to move but her power was quickly slipping away.

  The world became hazy and started to darken. No more power went out from the words. They had become impotent—or, more precisely, she had.

  Slumping to the ground, Willa landed on her rear.

  Elijah’s strength was slipping away.

  The tables were turning, and Alarawn had the upper hand once again.

  With one final swing, the storm creature connected with Elijah in the chest and sent his large metal mass flying. He slammed into the wall of the ice rink and continued through it. The metal body slid across the surface, leaving puddles in its wake.

  The creature turned toward Willa. The poet-magician had nothing left. She lifted her arms in a poor attempt to cover her face.

  Less than five yards away, the creature’s gait began to wobble. Six more steps and Alarawn fell, directly at Willa’s feet.

  “Elijah,” she yelled, running to the rink.

  Through the mist, she came upon the historian’s body—not that of the molten man, but Elijah as she knew him. His naked, pudgy, faculty body was splayed out, motionless on the ice. Smoke seeped from a red scar on his chest.

  As she approached, he turned and looked up. “Is it over?”

  Willa bit her lip, and nodded. “We did it.”

  Willa leaned down and took Elijah into a one-arm embrace, taking care with his wounded body.

  “You run around naked more than any white guy I’ve ever met.” The chemist’s voice echoed around the eerily silent square. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  The heroes limped, holding each other up, out into the littered grounds.

  “It worked,” Willa said, looking up into Percy’s eyes.

  “Of course it worked. I’m a damn genius.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Brooke’s naked body lay in the middle of the wreckage, a cast-off doll. A thin layer of ice encased her human form. Her frozen lashes fluttered. She watched as the three academics limped away.

  She thought about Alarawn Industries.

  She thought about Pittsburgh.

  She thought about her family.

  Cold coursed through her veins. It enveloped her. The transformation of her bruised body was painful—a pain she relished.

  Alarawns never rest.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the square. Elijah turned and saw the creature walking toward them. At its roar all hope vanished. It was larger than before, its once symmetrical form jagged and monstrous. The ice was so thick that Elijah couldn’t make out Brooke’s face.

  He and his friends could barely walk, let alone fight. He pulled Willa and Chem in close, trying in vain to shield their bodies.

  A brilliant flash blinded them. Standing between Elijah and Alarawn was an overweight, bearded man in full academic regalia—cap and all. The gown and white hood flapped in the wind.

  The man raised his hands overhead, as if to give a benediction.

  The creature sprinted at him, snarling and hissing.

  The don began to chant:

  “Out of the night that covers me,

  Black as the pit from pole to pole,

  I thank whatever gods may be

  For my unconquerable soul.

  In the fell clutch of circumstance

  I have not winced nor cried aloud.

  Under the bludgeonings of chance

  My head is bloody, but unbowed.

  Beyond this place of wrath and tears

  Looms but the Horror of the shade,

  And yet the menace of the years

  Finds and shall find me unafraid.

  It matters not how strait the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate,

  I am the captain of my soul.”

  His final line sung, the man let forth a barbaric cry and charged into the giant creature.

  A massive explosion shook the square. Its power knocked the three adjuncts over.

  Willa was the first to her feet. “Grandpa!” she screamed into the empty night air.

  But there was no response.

  The hail cease
d.

  A light snow fell in its stead.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The desk on the far side of the room sat empty. Most of the students hardly noticed the absence, but for Willa it was cloaked in sadness. At times she would glance over, praying he would mysteriously appear.

  But, of course, Sean was gone.

  “Poetry continues to teach me, to move me. Each year, I become a different person—the lines are different—they change as I change.”

  The basketball player and his doting fans didn’t hear her. A mousy girl in the front row continued taking notes, jotting her own lines of poetry in the margins, but the rest of the class seemed generally numbed to the core. Their disengagement broke Willa’s heart, but they had to find inspiration on their own. Her power wasn’t able to make people love learning. But she had discovered that it was meant for something.

  Willa wouldn’t be teaching in the fall.

  “I pray that you will remember, that as life rolls past—in difficulty or joy—poetry is there to comfort and inspire. The lines of the bards are invaluable. I leave you all with this:

  “Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,

  For the lesson thou hast taught!

  Thus at the flaming forge of life

  Our fortunes must be wrought;

  Thus on its sounding anvil shaped

  Each burning deed and thought.”

  The students filed out, most with little more than a nod to the part-time instructor. Their brief foray into the world of poetic verse had ended and they all had more important things to do. Final projects, end-of-the-semester parties, summer job applications: these things took precedence.

  Over the final months Willa had realigned her priorities, as well as her expectations. It was time for a change.